


Villengardian Banana Hammock

by allegoricalrose (SilentStars)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Bananas, Crack, F/M, Physiology, Second-Hand Embarrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5746483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentStars/pseuds/allegoricalrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One friend pawing through another friend’s form-fitting trouser pockets. In prison. Half-naked. <i>No big deal</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Villengardian Banana Hammock

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Whatwecanfic for the prompt (many, many months ago!)

“Honestly, Doctor, what did you expect?” Rose chided as she rattled the shackles holding his arms up high on the stone prison wall, looking for a keyhole or a release mechanism that might clue her into how to remove them. “I’m sure the bananas here are delicious but in the future it might be a good idea to stay away from places where you’ve broken laws and destroyed property.”

The Doctor adopted a pout. “I didn’t even get a chance to try one. _One_ , Rose. This whole planet has been in a constant state of peace since the factory meltdown and they won’t even let me taste a single bite of my spoils. They’re not _actually_ sacred, you know.”

With an over-exaggerated sigh, she patted his shoulder and rolled her eyes again, mainly to get them away from the vast expanse of bare chest on show from her usually over-layered friend. Never mind that her lips pleaded that he’d taste better than bananas, regardless of the fact that her fingers itched to follow that line of hair down his abdomen to his—

“My trousers, Rose.”

She startled. “What? I wasn’t…um, what about your trousers?”

“I might have a spare sonic in there somewhere.” He wiggled his hips in a most distracting way and someone must have inexplicably adjusted the thermostat to tropical levels. “Can you rummage around and see if you can find it? Then we can get out of here before they come around on their next round. Plenty of time to procure a tasty snack enroute to the TARDIS, too…”

Not rising to the bait of his eyebrow wiggle, she instead took a second to steel herself. It was just a hand in his trouser pocket. _Act cool. No big deal._ One friend pawing through another friend’s form-fitting trouser pockets. In prison. Half-naked.

For some reason she felt compelled to close her eyes as she reached in with one hand, using the other to create as large an opening as possible. Her fingers crept along the front of the material, pressed together tight and definitely not attempting to wander off the safe path. The path kept going, though, and she opened her eyes in surprise to discover that she was almost elbow-deep in the Doctor’s pinstriped pockets.

“Your trouser pockets are bigger on the inside too?” she asked, incredulously as she relaxed and let her hand explore more freely.

“Of course. Why stop with my jacket? Experimented with transcendental shoes once; kept tripping into other dimensions so that was out. Oooh, a transcendental hat might be useful, though!” His eyes were shining as he looked down at Rose, who had dropped to her knees and currently had her entire arm down his pocket.

Over her shoulder she tossed a bouncy-ball, a dozen red candles, twelve copies of what appeared to be a single Mills and Boon book with a curly-haired man in a cravat on the cover, a container of eggs.

Rose scrunched up her nose and looked up at the Doctor. “There’s nothing alive in here, is there?”

To her horror, the Doctor’s face turned contemplative and she snatched her hand out.

“Probably not. The worst you’ll find is a rabbit, but I think I set it free a few centuries ago. I certainly intended to do so… Anyway, back to work, Rose: it’s probably near the back. Wouldn’t want it to fall out.”

“Naturally,” she sighed and dove back in, pushing aside square objects and plush objects and something that felt disconcertingly like wet chewing gum. The next cylindrical object she pulled out made her pause and raise her eyebrows up at the chained prisoner.

“A pink electric toothbrush?”

“Thought you might need it some day. Might need it tonight if you don’t get going on finding that sonic!”

Ducking her head to conceal the pleased flush breaking out across her face, she returned to his pocket. “Thanks.” He hummed in his usual arrogant way and she used her free hand to pinch the back of his leg in retaliation.

Her next find elicited shades of pink she’d never seen in his cheeks and she sat back on her haunches, intrigued at such a reaction.

“Is this the shawl I wore on our second trip? In Cardiff with Charles Dickens?”

“Er…” His eyes darted around the room and his hands strained at the chains, struggling to scratch his neck or fiddle with his ear. “Could be. Could also be a flag to attract a bull, or a sieve for making cheese, or—”

“Why do you have my shawl, Doctor?”

“In case you get…cold?”

She snorted. “Mmm, right. You know, I was looking for this to take back to the wardrobe room; I was sure I’d left it in my bedroom. Remember, I asked you if you had any idea where it might have gone and you told me that the TARDIS must have put it back?”

“She must have put it in my pocket by mistake.” He still wasn’t making eye contact with her and something that she would have brushed off without a second thought was becoming more interesting by the minute.

“But these weren’t your pockets, back then. Why would she—”

“ _Rose._ Can you just…get back to it?”

Pursing her lips and glaring at his impatient tone, she reached into his pocket again, throwing carefulness out the window in her desire to find that sonic and get out of here. There was only so much cranky bare-chested Time Lord she could handle in one afternoon and not self-combust with frustration.

Her hand brushed along something cool and oblong at the very furthest point she could reach and she closed her hand around it, eyebrows narrowing.

“Doctor. You better not have sent me on a wild pocket-chase after a banana. Tell me there’s a sonic in here and that you’re not simply hungry for this banana way at the back.”

“There’s a sonic, promise” he squeaked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. He’d gone still as a statue. Rose squinted up at him and then returned to her task.

“Do I want to know how old this thing is?”

“Pretty old,” he ground out, his jaw clenched now and his eyes a little wild.

“Calm down,” she laughed, “what do you think I’m going to do, steal it and eat it in front of you?” She cocked her head, considering. “I should, really.”

His eyes bulged and he shook his head quickly. A smirk began to rise up her lips.

“Luckily for you it seems to be in good condition. Nice big one, too.” She squeezed it gently; it seemed firmer than she’d first thought. _Quite_ firm, actually. “Sure hope I don’t accidentally bruise your precious banana. Wouldn’t want that.”

His eyes rolled into the back of his head and a shudder strong enough she could feel it rocketed through his body. “Let’s…keep it…unscathed, shall we?” His voice was tight.

Assuming her banana-obsessed Doctor was getting cranky over her withholding the fruit from him, she shrugged and tried to pull it out for him but it was caught on something. Not wanting to damage his lauded treasure, she slid her hand up and down its length, her fingers exploring the surface to determine what it was stuck on. It appeared to be attached to a larger object, one too deep in his pockets to feel properly.

“Do you have a banana _tree_ in your pocket?”

His eyes were glassy and there was a sheen of sweat across his forehead. It took him a moment to respond, blinking several times and clearing his throat first. “Yes?”

“Is that a question? Are you really unclear whether or not you possess a banana tree in your pocket?”

“I…” He swallowed and looked down at her. She’d shifted her body to the front of him, her face now level with his hips, so she could feel deeper. He blanched.

“It’s a weird tree, no leaves or palm fronds or anything. Quite smooth. Come to think of it, don’t bananas usually grow in bunches? Or is this a special alien banana tree? It does seem bigger than any banana I’ve ever seen on Earth…”

“Definitely alien, but Rose, maybe you could just—” he forced out, his breath coming in pants now.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m doing my best, Doctor, I know you want it. I just can’t figure out how it’s attached…”

“I’m…I’m not hungry. Forget it. Just…look for that s—sonic. Please.”

“Oh! There’s some little ones growing behind it. They’re very squishy. Maybe they’d be easier to pick, I can almost—”

“It’s not a banana, it’s me!” the Doctor shouted, his words frantic and tumbling over one another.

“Oh.” Realisation dawned, metallic and sharp. “Oh!”

She released the object like it was on fire and scrambled backward. Standing in the corner of the cell, she stared at him with wide eyes, mouth frozen open in horror.

“Er, yes. Anyway. Let’s um, let’s just wait for someone to come—arrive! And release us.” He screwed his eyes shut for a moment and took a controlled breath through his teeth. “Not release, um, set bail.”

Rose nodded silently, her cheeks burning and unable to meet his eyes. A surreptitious glance in his direction confirmed that he was gazing intently at the floor too. Time seemed to slow and the air seemed too thick for her lungs. Several long minutes passed before she was able to speak.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I…Why is it in there?” He looked up sharply, and she kicked her mouth for its nervous ebullience. “In your pock—never mind, sorry. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I… Transdimensional pockets… it’s all in the same dimension. Regardless of what…space the pocket, or, er, clothing item occupies in this dimension.”

A pause. “The inside of your underpants are also…” She can’t quite finish her sentence.

“Bigger on the inside. Yes.”

“Oh.”

“I should have warned you, I didn’t think—”

“It’s fine, I’m sorry too, I should have considered…anyway,” she interrupted, desperately trying to end this conversation and move on with their lives. She couldn’t help a glance down to her hand and almost at once her mind began racing with all the new pieces of information she’d accidently stumbled upon today about the reticent Time Lord. But that was a line of thought best saved for alone time.

Luckily they were interrupted from the awkwardness when a key turned in the lock and the door to the cell was pushed open. The warden entered, flanked by several people in suits, all of them worried and apologetic. Apparently they hadn’t _meant_ to arrest the individual responsible for world peace.

Strange, that.

The Doctor’s chains were unlocked, his many layers of shirts returned, and they were ushered to another room for another round of supplicant apologies and babbling excuses. He was gracious about it but his manner was curt, accepting their apologies and allowing a few posed photographs with what appeared to be political leaders, but Rose could see he was clearly trying to get out of there. She felt the same way and was relieved when the hand-shaking and tight smiles finally finished and the Doctor was able to escape the crowd and make for the door.

Out of instinct his hand moved toward hers but it froze halfway, moving to her waist to steer her out of the line of cameras and then quickly letting go to hover above the small of her back.

Rose found herself filling the silence with repetitions on a theme, unable to figure out what else to say as they made their way back to the TARDIS. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Rose.”

“And, um, it’s not a big deal. About, you know, your…um. It’s biology, yeah? Friction, reflexes, I know it’s—I know it wasn’t intentional, Doctor.”

He nodded tersely, his eyes determinedly on the blue box in the distance.

“I mean, what’s some accidental touching between friends? Was bound to happen eventually. I mean, last week we almost had to do naked barrel over the waterfall together and two days ago there was that bug bite on my thigh and yesterday we only narrowly escaped having to pose in that weird erotic theatre display, and even today there was that banana ritual you were telling me about—”

“Rose.” His face was stony.

She bit her lip. “Sorry.”

“Just… Stop apologising. It’s fine.”

“ _I_ know that. Not sure you do.”

His eyebrows furrowed but he stubbornly continued to avoid her gaze, focusing instead on the TARDIS lock like it was suddenly the most complicated keyhole in the universe. “Hmm?” he asked distractedly.

“Natural. Reaction,” she enunciated carefully as the door finally creaked open and they pushed their way inside. “You don’t have be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed!” he insisted, his cheeks blooming a deeper shade of unembarrassed scarlet.

“Uh huh.”

He sent them into the vortex and turned to face her, finally making eye contact. “I’m not.”

“Okay.” Leaning back against the console, she raised an eyebrow but mimed zipping her lips.

“Time Lords don’t embarrass.”

Rose shook her head in agreement, eyes wide and innocent. He stepped closer and she grinned, tongue at the corner of her lips. His lips raised in seemingly unconscious response and his shoulders lowered a fraction. Another expression passed over his face, one she couldn’t quite interpret.

“We don’t.” He paused, took another step forward so that he was almost directly in front of her, hesitated again, and then took another step forward. His hips were only inches from hers, his legs bracketing hers and trapping her against the controls.

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Noted.”

“Time Lords had other physiological differences too.” His mouth was suddenly closer to her ear than she was pretty sure it had ever been outside whispered life-or-death plans.

“Oh?” she mouthed, her throat too raspy to make an actual sound. She could feel the heat radiating off his body and onto hers, the breeze of his breath blowing wisps of hair around her temples.

“More conscious motor planning. Less reflexes.”

“I…What?” She was confused now. He was still bent over her, almost-but-not-quite touching the whole length of their bodies, his lips still suspended over her ear, but he was…launching into a medical lecture?

“Less sexual reflexes. Spinal, specifically.” His lips were now ON her ear, tickling with every word. Rose squirmed, attempting to stop herself from moaning or raising her hips to meet his while also trying to interpret what he was saying.

“Um. You don’t have sex?” Because this was _not_ the best way to let her down easy.

He sighed, detaching his teeth from her earlobe and straightening up. “I’m screwing this up, aren’t I?”

“I can honestly say I have _no_ idea.” She took a deep breath and then another, unaware for how long she’d been holding it. “What are you trying to do?”

“I’m…” He ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. “No spinal reflexes.”

“Got that. What does it mean?”

“The Time Lord penile tumescence instigation sequence is singularly served by the central nervous system, not the peripheral nerve endings.”

“Awesome. Well done, you.”

He sighed. “You still have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Nope!” Rose grinned and cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure if I wait long enough you’ll get to the point of the story.” She bit her lip. “And then back to what you were doing, with all luck.”

“But that _is_ the point.”

She nodded encouragingly.

“My brain controls my erections. Not reflexive nerve endings.”

She continued to nod, mostly just shocked he’d said ‘my’ and ‘erection’ in the same utterance.

“Damn it, Rose, I was hard because _you_ turned me on, not your hand.”

One blink. Two.

“I mean, your hand certainly accelerated things. Augmented, even, that’s a better word. Engorged. No, stroke that last one. STRIKE! _Strike_ that. Strike.”

Mouth now agape.

“But only because I’m attracted to the person controlling your hand. Anyone else touching me the same way wouldn’t have any effect. Small and floppy, I’d have been. Welllll, small _certainly_ isn’t the right word. And floppy, what an awful word. Really, is there any positive connotation of ‘floppy’? Floppy. Floppy flopp—mmph”

Lips crashed on lips. Hands roaming, hair ruffling, hips locking, knees flopping. Non-spinal-reflex hardness pressing, poking. Poking up over trouser bands. Yellow.

“Doctor?”

“Mmmmm?” His eyes were glazed over, his lips shiny.

“That’s a banana.”

It took a few seconds longer than usual for him to respond, eventually dragging his eyes down to himself. “Hmm? Oh. So it is.”

“Why is there a banana tucked into your waistband?”

“I couldn’t go without trying— you know what, who cares?” He pulled out the sacred fruit and flung it into a far corner.

His lips were back on hers before it crashed to the grating, bruised and forgotten.


End file.
